


Between Heaven and the Sky

by kat_snow2613



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Oral Sex, Pining, R Plus L Equals J, Smut, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 07:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14100789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_snow2613/pseuds/kat_snow2613
Summary: Sequel to Between the Air and Earth:Jon and Sansa once played together as children, and Sansa craves his touch once again.He fears there's too much at risk now that they're adults.Yet perhaps the true risk lies in resisting.





	Between Heaven and the Sky

Sansa stood at Jon’s table, frowning down at the map in front of her. 

“I need you to explain the proposed route to me, one more time,” she stated. 

He nodded. The proposed trade route was was admittedly circuitous. He hadn’t understood it himself at first. 

“It will be easier if I show you,” he said. He stood behind Sansa and took her hand. 

“From Deepwood Motte...to Barrowton...to White Harbor...finally to Winterfell,” he said, taking her fingers and leading them over the map. 

“Right...just one more time,” Sansa requested. 

Jon repeated the route. When he finished, Sansa turned her hand so that her fingers could stroke his palm. It felt nice. He stretched out his fingers so that she could stroke those as well. 

She leaned back into his arms and rubbed her head against him.

“What’s all this?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat.

“It feels nice, no?” she asked. 

“Yes, but…” he trailed off. 

The last few weeks had been tense between them. The news that Jon was the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar sparked outrage in many of the old Northern houses. It had been Sansa who had calmed them. Jon knew it must have been painful for her, to defend a crown that could have rightfully been her own. 

With time, they had settled into some sort of an understanding, although one that Jon himself did not fully understand. 

But now, Sansa was rubbing his hand in a way that was very confusing. 

She leaned back against him, twisting her hips in the most intriguing way. 

He wrapped his arm around her middle, and rested his head against her shoulder. Perhaps he didn’t need to understand this moment, perhaps he could just enjoy it. 

Sansa took the hand she’d been stroking and pulled it to her body. She wrapped herself in him. 

“This reminds me of when we were children...in the Godswood,” she said.

Suddenly, Jon was back in the Godswood on that sunny afternoon. Sansa had sat on his lap and bounced on his knee, naughty and innocent all at once. He could still see the sunlight streaming red and dazzling through her hair. He could still hear the sweet little moans she was making. He could still feel her wetness on his fingertips. 

He lowered his mouth to her ear. 

“Don’t forget about where it started–the sickbed,” he whispered. 

She moaned, not so differently as she had that day. Perhaps she too was thinking of how she’d ridden against Jon’s thigh, her face flushed, her small breasts rising and falling.

The memories and the sounds were overwhelming. Blood rushed to his cock. Sansa moaned in appreciation and twisted her arms behind her, wrapping them around Jon, to pull him closer. It also succeeded in making her breasts more pronounced. What would happen if Jon were to reach up to cup her breasts?

“Do you ever think about those afternoons, Jon?” she asked, moaning softly. 

“Of course,” Jon mumbled, gasping as the rotation of her hips increased. 

Time seemed to slow as she turned to face him. She placed her hand on his neck before she kissed him. That suddenly felt too far, too dangerous. Jon allowed himself to indulge for just a moment before he pulled away.

“Sweet girl,” he said, “We’re not children anymore. We can’t play under the covers as we once did.”

It was if the air had been let out of the room. She pulled away sharply. “Fine,” she stated. Time sped up as she collected her things and left the room with the slam of the door. 

Jon was certain he’d made the right decision, even as he ached for her that night. Their physical love would just complicate an already delicate situation.

He grew to learn a new definition of misery over the next few days. 

Sansa was never mean to him, but rather treated him with an ice cold courtesy. Her smiles, her jokes, her temper, all of the little things he’d grown to love were suddenly lost to him. He even had a fresh tray of lemon cakes sent to her room, and still no warmth from her. 

She continued her perfect politeness when they took a short trip to Wintertown. They would only be gone a few hours, so they did not take a full guard. Sansa rode in a small litter and Jon rode alongside. They briefly met with a wool merchant before returning to Winterfell. 

They were about halfway back when he heard shouting. One of the wheels to Sansa’s litter had cracked. He jumped down off his horse to helped her out of the carriage. The driver inspected the damage. It would take several hours to fix. 

“I’ll ride ahead and send back help,” he said as he climbed back on his horse. His was the only horse with a saddle. “Lady Sansa can ride with me,” he said. 

The look she gave him could have frozen water. She said only, “If it please your Grace.”

“Yes, it pleases me. I don’t want you out here in the cold any longer than you have to be,” he said as he pulled her up on to the horse in front of him.

It was a tight fit, and they had to ride slowly due to the extra weight, but the massive destrier was strong enough to carry them both. 

Jon threaded his arms through Sansa’s to take the reigns, but not before he brushed her hair to one side so he could see properly. She gave no reaction.

“You’ve been distant for the past few days, my lady,” he said, close to her ear.

“Have I?” she replied, feigning innocence.

“Did you not get the lemon cakes I sent to your room? Were they not sweet enough for you?” he teased.

“I fear, there is a different sort of sweet I desire,” she said as she dropped her hands to his thighs and squeezed. The pressure sent a rush through Jon and he felt himself harden. For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of hooves and Jon’s heart pounding.

“My lord, your saddle seems to have grown smaller,” she said with honey in her voice. 

They were approaching the main gate of Winterfell. He forced himself to remember his duty to maintaining a peaceful land.

“I would give you anything you desire, sweet girl, but that is the one thing I can not give to you,” he said. 

“Is there another woman?” Sansa asked, as if she were merely curious. 

“There is no other woman I desire except for the one in my arms, but she is the one I can not have,” he said firmly. 

“And why is that?” she asked, tracing her fingers over his thigh. 

“Despite the incredible odds against us–fickle lords, religious zealots, boastful wildlings–we have managed to find a delicate peace,” he said as he pulled her hand from his leg and held it in his own. “I’m sure the lords of the Vale and North have plenty of ideas about who you should marry. A relationship between us could cause so many problems.”

“Or it could solve problems you haven’t thought of yet, like succession. It could prevent a hundred years of civil war between our heirs. But perhaps most importantly, it could make us happy,” she said.

By then, they had arrived at Winterfell. Sansa jumped down from the horse with some assistance from a stable boy. She looked up at him.

“Thank you for the ride, Your Grace, it was most gallant. I’ll be in my chambers for the rest of the day, should you require my assistance.”

She trailed her hand along his calf in a way that no one else would have noticed, but left him flustered. 

Jon sent out riders to assist the broken litter and attempted to go about his day. He inspected shields and sacks of corn. He spoke with the maester and the smith. He did everything he could to keep his mind off of the feel of Sansa’s hands and the things she had said to him.

Was she right? Had Sansa foreseen a future Jon could not have imagined? He would never want to war against her or her children, but would his sons feel the same way, or their sons? He had no way of guaranteeing events a hundred years after his death. Was the solution for them to join their lines? 

And was Sansa truly willing to make that sacrifice–to marry her bastard brother turned bastard cousin–for the good of the North?

He found himself in front of Sansa’s door. He knocked, but did not wait to enter. She was sitting in front of her fire, sewing.

“You came,” she sounded surprised.

“No games, no seduction, why do you want this?” he said with no preamble. 

“You make me feel safe, isn’t that what a husband ought to do?” she asked as she set down her sewing. 

“I don’t...I don’t understand Sansa. You’re young, you’re beautiful, there are a dozen lords who would marry you.”

“They would not be marrying me, only my claim. Ever since King’s Landing, men have only sought my claim,” she said sadly. 

“Unlike me, who stole it from you,” Jon stated.

“Yes, you did.”

They passed an uncomfortable silence and Jon was afraid that they might slip back into an icy awkwardness. 

“Little had turned out the way I thought it would, Jon. I did not think that our family would be murdered, and the kingdom plunged into war. But if after all of it, if we can find comfort in each other, I will consider us lucky,” she said. 

“And can we? Find comfort in one another?”

She smiled. “We did once. When we were banished to the sick room.”

“Let’s see if we can’t find it again.”

He went to her and extended his hand. She took it and stood. He wrapped his fingers through her hair and kissed her. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth for a good suck. She gasped when he bit it, just a little. He swept his tongue over the lip to soothe it. 

She clutched at his shoulders, massaging them. Blood warmed all over his body. He began to struggle with her many laces and ties and had half a mind to call for one of her maids to undress her, but thought that might be a bit suspicious. They were finally free of their clothes and stumbled to the bed. He pulled her nipple into his mouth until she moaned. She found his cock and stroked him. Not yet, he thought. He wanted to drive her mad first, the way she had done to him the past few days. 

He laid back on the bed, pulling her upward while he slid down, until her thighs were on either side of his head. He licked her lips, and then stuck his tongue inside of her. The poor thing didn’t know what to do. Her body jerked uncontrollably and she made a high pitched, gasping sound. He pulled her nub into his mouth. He looked up at the sight on top of him. Her mouth was open, her eyes were closed but fluttering. She cupped her breasts. He circled her with his tongue until she jerked against his mouth and then came. He let her fall to the side, and watched her struggle to catch her breath. He stroked his cock while he watched her recover. When she seemed to breathe normally, he climbed on top of her and kissed her neck, leaving pink flowers behind until he found her ear. 

“If we marry, it won’t be enough to ride my knee or sit on my face. You’ll have to bring me sons, Sansa. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Jon, please, as many as I can,” she said, digging her nails into his back.

“Let’s see,” he said before he sank into her. She moaned and wrapped her legs around him. She braced against the bed and thrust against him. She was trying to rub her clit against his stomach. He sank deeper into her, and purposefully pressed against her with each stroke. She gasped in response.

“I’ll give you sons, Jon, I promise,” she moaned. 

_That’s not all I want,_ he thought. _I want all of you, your secrets, your fears, your trust. All of you._

He wrapped his hand behind her neck and kissed her. His tongue invaded her mouth and she moaned around it.

“Should we start now? Should I give you my seed?”

“Please, please, yes.”

He thrust harder until an ache built in his stomach. He pushed deeper into her, as that was the only way to relieve the ache. She encouraged him with her voice and body, responding to every stroke. He came, sinking into her, gradually lying still between her breasts.

He let himself imagine their future. He imagined marrying her in the Godswood. She would be a just, fair, gentle queen. She was already a queen, in truth. He imagined the two of them restoring the North to its former glory, leaving it a safe and prosperous land for their children, and all children. He imagined their legacy as good and wise rulers, and their children carrying on that legacy. And it all started on a warm afternoon, when they’d grown bored with stories. 

“I wonder what made us play together that day,” he asked, when he could speak.

“Maybe I always knew you were a King,” she said, teasing him. 

“And you have always been my Queen,” he said, kissing her.


End file.
